Mass Effect: Repercussions
by C. Dawgz
Summary: As Commander Shepard struggles to recover from both mental and physical wounds incurred in his battle to stop the Reapers, a sinister figure from his past seeks retribution. Can Shepard survive this new old? threat and move on with his life?
1. Chapter 1

Well, I'm back! It's been more than a long while, but I hope to be doing this with some regularity for the foreseeable future. As a little disclaimer, I'd like to say that it's pretty unlikely that I'll end up going back and finishing Redemption. I haven't done anything to it for years and its difficult to pick up the pieces and go back to it. Time has soured my opinion of the parts of it that were published, and its hard to go back and be excited about finishing something that I'm no longer excited to reread. You never know though, if the mood strikes me and the demand is there, I may try to put something together.

In the meantime, I'm working on a story about a different Commander Shepard. This time it's a male. It should be a fun little story, and if its received favorably it could evolve into a more recurring thing.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and be sure to click on Review!

_Note: I do not own Mass Effect or its characters._

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Shepard's eyes snapped open and he gasped for breath. The motion sent waves of agonizing pain through his chest. His eyes tried to focus but it was too bright to see. Where was he? More importantly, where was his gun?

He tried to move and more pain shot through his body. He slowly became aware of the sounds of the room he was in. A beeping, speeding up a bit, among other technological sounds. A hospital room. The beeping noise was the sound of his vitals, speeding up as he regained consciousness. His eyes adjusted to the damnable brightness and confirmed his suppositions. He groaned weakly. What had happened?

The door was open and he could hear the clatter of feet on the inhospitable hospital tiles. A woman strode into the room at a brisk pace. "You're awake," she said, with a degree of surprise in her tone as she fired up an omnitool and began to scan him and make note of his condition.

He tried to speak but his vocal chords wouldn't cooperate. He forced them to function and hated how quiet and weak his voice sounded. "What happened?" he asked her. "Did we-" he winced as the pain suddenly intensified. "Did we win?"

The nurse smiled sadly. "We won," she told him. "We lost a lot of people, but we won." He was glad to hear it. He tried to recall what had happened on the Citadel. The Illusive Man was dead, his mad thirst for human dominance finally at an end. He'd remained true to his vision until the end, when Shepard had put him down like he would any other mad dog. Not out of cruelty, not out of malice. Out of necessity.

He remembered with great sadness what had happened to Anderson. They'd sat together and looked out at the stars as old friends, comrades; as brothers in arms. The old man had slipped away from him, and he'd been sure he would soon be just as dead.

He remembered the Catalyst, the AI housed in the Citadel who had been under their noses the entire time. The Citadels many enigmas had never sat well with him; as it turned out, he'd been right to be wary all along. He'd labored over the Crucible for a few minutes; the device could be executed in three ways, none of which were without their sacrifices.

In the end, he'd decided that the never-ending struggle between organic and synthetic life was a matter for future generations to sort out. This war was about killing the Reapers. It had always been about killing the Reapers. He wasn't about to kill himself in a mad bid to dominate them, nor was he going to play God and make the decision to merge all organic and synthetic life without the knowledge or consent of the people it would affect.

No, he'd gone to the Citadel to kill the Reapers, and regrettable as it was to lose EDI and the geth, kill the Reapers he did. He remembered peppering the core with shots from his Paladin, the big pistol sending waves of pain down his shattered arm. He remembered the explosion. And now he was here, in this hospital bed.

"How long…how long have I been out?" he asked, a little afraid to hear the answer. The last time he'd asked someone that question he'd missed his thirtieth birthday, and his thirty-first.

She frowned, eyes becoming thoughtful as if she was considering the best way to tell him. "Nearly two months, Commander."

He let out a harsh chuckle. "Could be worse," he said, speaking from experience. "What about the Normandy? Did they make it?" He thought of Ashley, of what they had rekindled. He needed to know that she was alright.

"There'll be time for that soon," she said in a tone that suggested she didn't want him getting too agitated. "I'll be back with the doctor." She zipped out of the room.

He gazed at the ceiling and considered the ramifications of the victory. There was no way they'd have been able to win a conventional war with the Reapers, so he had to assume the Crucible had done its job. The Reapers were no more. If the Catalyst hadn't misinformed him, this meant that the geth were dead as well. He regretted their sacrifice, but they'd backed him in the war knowing it could mean the extermination of everything. It was either the geth or an incomplete victory, and with a force as horrifying as the one the Reapers had assembled, Shepard would not stop short, would not compromise. He wondered how Joker had taken the death of EDI. Did the pilot know that he was responsible?

More footsteps outside, and in walked Dr. Chloe Michele. "Hey Doc," he said weakly.

"Hello Commander," she said with a smile, her accent just as French and sexy as ever. "You've been out for a long time. How does it feel to be back in the land of the living?"

He shook his head faintly. "Hurts like hell, to be honest. The nurse was more concerned with getting you in here than filling me in; what's been happening?"

"Whatever you did on the Citadel worked. Some sort of shockwave came out of the Crucible; the Reapers died as it passed through them. The pulse worked its way through the relay network with the same effects; they're all dead."

He breathed a heavy sigh of relief, causing himself more pain. Dr. Michele continued: "Unfortunately, whatever you did with the device also killed the geth. I was never the greatest fan of them," she said with a small shudder. "But they did help us, and it's tragic that they were killed like that."

He closed his eyes. It wasn't what Legion would have wanted, but he had to believe that it…that _he_ would have understood why Shepard did it.

"The fleets have returned to their homeworlds to begin rebuilding, though some have remained stationed in Sol to help in repairing the Citadel and categorizing the losses we sustained there. It's funny. I never thought I'd see the races get along so well, but even after the fighting was done, there was still a great sense of unity."

"Doc…what about the Normandy?" He dreaded the answer. It would be devastating to learn that he had saved the galaxy, only to find out that the people who he fought for most directly had perished.

"They're alive," she said, and Shepard let out a sharp sigh of relief. "Unfortunately, the Normandy sustained severe damage during the retreat order Admiral Hackett issued. Also, the Crucible's pulse damaged the relays. I'm told that our people are working to get them fully operational, but it will take time. When last we heard from the Normandy, they were still several months out. But make no mistake, Commander. Your crew is alive and they are on their way here."

He deflated a bit. He'd wanted nothing so badly as to have a drink with his crew. To hold Ashley. "So Doc, how long am I going to be restrained in this bed? I'd like to get back to work, help with the reconstruction."

Dr. Michele's face fell. "When they pulled you from the rubble, you were badly hurt."

"Yeah, I can tell," he said, sarcasm coloring his tone. "How long?"

She leaned over his bed and drew the blanket down. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and his veins turned to ice.

"Commander, I'm…I'm so sorry. Your leg had to be amputated."


	2. Chapter 2

This has to be some sort of speed record for me. I didn't expect this chapter to be done so quickly, but hey, it was fun. I hope you enjoy reading it. Remember, reviews are always greatly appreciated!

_**Note: Again, I don't own Mass Effect or its characters**_

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Shepard stared at the stump where his right leg had been, blinking over and over again as if he was looking at some sort of horrible optical illusion, as if he would blink again and his leg would be there. It had been taken just above the knee. The elation he'd felt upon learning of his victory and the galaxy's salvation dissipated in a heartbeat. "But…" he said, mouth continuing to move wordlessly. His leg. He turned his feverish gaze towards Dr. Michele, though she couldn't meet it, averting her eyes.

"All is not lost," she said weakly. He could feel it now, the absence of his leg. When he'd awoken, his whole body had been enveloped in blinding pain. He hadn't even noticed the missing extremity. Now that he was looking at what wasn't there, he could feel it. God, what was he going to do? He thought of his team, always looking to him for leadership. He wasn't going to be leading anything anymore. He felt sick, deep in his gut. He was dimly aware of hot tears streaming down his face. _Keep it together, _he implored himself, but that tiny voice of reason was lost in the sea of fear and uncertainty. His fucking leg!

"Commander, we will spare no expense to rehabilitate you. The galaxy owes you a debt it can never repay, and I promise we are going to do everything in our power to help you through this." Dr. Michele's voice was heavy with sadness and, he hated to hear it, pity.

For a terrible moment he found himself wishing he had done something else with the Crucible. Surely dying would be preferable to this. He was a soldier. He made his living on the battlefield, and he'd always figured that even if the galaxy pulled together and defeated the Reapers and he survived to tell about it, there would always be work for him. He didn't enjoy all the killing, but he was making a difference, improving the galaxy one bullet at a time. Without his leg, there was no future in that.

He thought of the young Alliance marine he'd overheard in the hospital on the Citadel. The kid had been wounded fighting the Reapers, and the staff had been preparing to take his leg. Shepard had listened to the marine beg the doctors not to do it. He explained that his unit was counting on him, and that if they took his leg he wouldn't be able to help them. Shepard had felt a deep pity for the kid, who clearly felt so helpless. The war was over, and the military's need of him was surely less dire as a result, but Shepard now understood exactly how that young soldier had felt.

"Enough about the leg for the moment," he said, swallowing hard and trying to blink away some of those damned tears. "Walk me through the rest of the damage." He realized the irony of what he'd said. "Walk. Fuck me, what a choice of words."

"Your cybernetic implants helped you shrug off much of the potential damage. You were buried under rubble, Shepard. You should have died. As it stands, your right arm is badly broken, your left leg is broken, you have eight broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, a punctured lung, and probably a severe concussion, but it's hard to tell about the concussion on an unconscious patient. You're very lucky to be alive."

He stared at her, letting it sink in. Jesus. The only way that diagnosis could be any worse is if he jettisoned himself out of a spaceship again. "Rehabilitate?" he said, echoing her previous sentiment. "It sounds like I'm being held together with duct tape."

"Shepard," she said gently. "You are the most obstinate man I know. If anyone can come back from this level of damage and have a fulfilling life, it's you. I have to go tend to another patient, but I'll be back with painkillers for you soon. We'll also be testing you for a concussion. In the meantime, would you like me to contact anyone? We can't make regular contact with the Normandy, but if you like I can call Admiral Hackett."

"Do that," he said. "I'd like to bring him in here so I can formally file my report, belated though it may be. Also, see if you can find out the whereabouts of my old teammates who weren't on the Normandy. Urdnot Grunt, Jack, Miranda Lawson, Jacob Taylor, Zaeed Massani, Samara, and Kasumi Goto. And Chloe…has there been any word of my mother?" Captain Hannah Shepard had been aboard the SSV Kilimanjaro during the battle for Earth. The space battle hadn't been going well, and he feared the worst.

"I'm here, hon," came a familiar voice from the door. He turned his head as much as he could and was shocked to see his mother standing in the doorway. "Dr. Michele contacted me as soon as she found out you were awake. I've been by your side through most of it, but even moms have to sleep sometimes. I'm so proud of you, darling," she said, eyes welling up. He knew it must be hell for her to have to see her only son, lying scared and helpless in a hospital bed and missing a leg.

"I'll give you two some privacy," Dr. Michele said, leaving the room.

"Mom," he said, the tears beginning to flow again. He chastised himself inwardly for thinking that it would be better if he had died. He might be embarking on a miserable new stage of his life, but the look of love in his mother's eyes made him feel guilty. She didn't deserve to lose him like that. He knew that it would devastate her.

She approached his bedside and hugged him gingerly. He wished she hadn't, as the hug was incredibly painful, but he wasn't going to deny his mother this small, yet meaningful, thing. "You did it, son. You saved us all. You're going to hear that from everybody, probably for the rest of your life, but I have to say it anyway."

He sighed. "I'm not going to hear it from the geth." The more he thought about what he'd done to the geth, the worse he felt about it. Destroying the Reapers was still the only option he'd ever have entertained, but it seemed a terrible thing to snatch life away from the geth as soon as they'd found some meaning in it.

"Don't blame yourself for that," his mother said, taking a firm tone. "You had no idea what the device would do when you deployed it." He swallowed hard, trying to get some moisture in his dry mouth. Nobody knew what had happened up there. They assumed that the Crucible was only capable of doing what it did; the fact that there had been other choices was known only to him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell anyone; it would mean scrutiny from AI advocates, of which there were now surely many. The geth had been invaluable in the battle, and had probably saved a lot of lifes.

"My leg," he said aloud. "I…what am I going to do?" He didn't expect his mother to have the answers, and he knew that it was a selfish question to ask, but he couldn't stop it from coming out. As meaningless as her words of comfort would be, he needed to hear them.

She squeezed his left hand with both hands. "You're going to get through this. We're all going to help you. You don't have to do this alone. You're strong, son. You're the strongest man I've ever known. You won't let this slow you down."

"I'm a soldier, Mom. It's all I know how to do."

"You've earned a rest, son. It's not going to be easy, but you _are_ going to get better. And you're going to find a way to find some happiness if I have to beat it out of you."

He smiled faintly. His mother was as stubborn as he was. He saw where he got it from. His eyelids began to droop. "I think I need to get some sleep. I love you, Mom," he said.

She gave his hand a squeeze and before he knew it he was asleep.

* * *

Admiral Hackett had been busy when Dr. Michele called him, but he would be arriving soon. A day had passed since Shepard had regained consciousness, and he had still spent most of the time asleep. The concussion was not as bad as the medical staff had feared. They were telling him how important that was, because it meant that despite the physical damage, his mental faculties should be relatively unhindered. Victims of severe concussions were prone to bouts of random crying and a host of other mental side effects. As Shepard understood it, a concussion's damage to the brain could be permanent and have a wide range of effects on temperament.

He'd learned that he was staying at Vancouver General Hospital. The sublevels had been relatively unharmed in the Reaper bombardment, and they were being used both for the massive amount of wounded and as temporary shelters for displaced survivors. Docked nearby was the SSV Everest, which Hackett had assumed control of after the destruction of Arcturus Station. Hackett was trying to reestablish Alliance Command and provide some relief for the harried local civilians. His mother had relinquished command of the Kilimanjaro to her XO to be with him, and had been assigned quarters aboard the Everest.

He wasn't sure if the remnants of the press had been alerted that he was alive, but he was sure that when Hackett arrived the cat would be out of the bag. The nurse, who had introduced herself as Leslie Kilborne, arrived with his medication. He swallowed the pills dry and eagerly gulped down the water. He could never seem to get hydrated enough. His mouth was in a perpetual state of Mojave dryness. The absence of a leg didn't stop it from feeling like he had a leg that was being crushed.

He'd been told that it was phantom pain; the brain was used to a leg being there, and if the leg _wasn't_ there, it got confused. The pain was excruciating, which, in the absence of a leg, really pissed him off. He wasn't feeling any better about his new lot in life. Dr. Michele assured him that prosthetic technology was really quite advanced, and that once he had recovered enough to begin physical therapy, he'd be able to regain up to 85% of his mobility. It didn't make him feel any better. He was enough of a goddamn cyborg as it was. Hell, he still wasn't even entirely sure he was the same Commander who'd burned up in atmo.

He'd requisitioned some old 20th century vids to watch to pass the time. He sat in the hospital bed watching a young, virile football quarterback save the universe from a comically sinister Asian man (who was not really Asian at all) named Ming and tried to fight back sleep. Normally he'd just let himself drift off, but Hackett would be here soon and he needed to discuss what had happened. He had to admit, the vid had a good soundtrack. The female lead reminded him of something Ashley had said when they had first visited the Citadel. Something about a tinfoil hat and a miniskirt. He smiled faintly, missing her more and more with each waking moment.

"Damned good to see you, Shepard," rumbled Hackett's familiar baritone. Shepard turned his head towards the door.

"I'd salute, Admiral, but…well, you know," Shepard said with grim humor. "What's been going on?"

"Things are about as you'd expect. A lot of dead. A lot of people in mourning. The rebuilding process is going to be long, and it's going to rake up a lot more pain before it's through. We're estimating a 70% fatality rate on Earth."

Shepard closed his eyes, trying to process the sheer amount of death. Billions, gone in a matter of months. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should have done better. I should have…goddammit, I don't know. I should have done something."

"Shepard," Hackett said. "Stow that talk. Consider that an order. You did a damned fine job, son. Anderson would be proud of you."

"He was," Shepard said. "Those were his last words." The mention of Anderson cut him like a knife. He still couldn't believe that his old friend was dead. "Did they…did they recover his body?"

"No," Hackett replied, sadness in his tone. "They're still trying to sort through it all. We've got a fair amount of people up there, along with aid from the other fleets, but helping the survivors is currently taking priority. We're going to be trying to figure out exactly who we lost up there for months."

"Dr. Michele made it. What about Commander Bailey? Has anyone heard from Kelly Chambers?"

"They're both alive, and they're both up there trying to help. Bailey's a good man. I don't know him well, but I'm glad he made it. You'll be happy to know that I sent word to the Normandy that you've regained consciousness. They probably won't get the message for a day or two and it'll take some time for them to get a reply back, but they've been informed."

"What do they know about my…my condition?" Shepard asked, nodding towards the foot of the bed.

"They've been informed." Shepard frowned. He hated to think that his crew knew what had happened to him. He'd always tried to set forth an example of strength, of invulnerability. Hell, even death hadn't kept him down. For them to know that he was crippled was painful for him. The façade was gone, and they would be able to see him for the scared, broken man that he was.

He continued to talk with Hackett for another fifteen minutes. He told Hackett what he'd learned about the Reapers, and what the Catalyst had told him about technological singularity. He told Hackett about the choices the AI had presented. Hackett nodded impassively, his unreadable face remaining neutral. He told Hackett that the Illusive Man was no longer a threat.

In turn, Hackett told him about the battle as it had unfolded after he'd gone into the Citadel. Most of the ground forces had been ravaged. Nearly two thirds of friendly combatants on the ground had been killed in the fighting, excluding the total loss of the geth. Wrex and his krogan had taken to killing Reaper ground forces with great gusto, and had taken the fewest casualties. The turians did as well as they did in any combat situation. Quarian marines weren't soldiers of the same caliber as the members of the other races, and they sustained the highest losses. Kirrahe and his STG teams had been effective in employing guerilla tactics. They would go down in history as the salarians who defied their dalatrass to help their galactic neighbors. The asari fought with renewed ferocity after the destruction of Thessia, and dealt great damage to Reaper forces.

Even the mercenaries had pitched in, well aware that the Reapers needed to be stopped, regardless of the costs. Hackett told Shepard that some of the higher ups in the Alliance and Citadel brass wanted to try to use the opportunity to take the merc armies into custody, but Hackett and others had been lobbying to grant them amnesty for their aid in the battle to end all battles. Shepard tended to agree. Aria T'Loak had done alright by him, and he wanted her to be well compensated for it. Also, he didn't think he really wanted to piss her off.

"Well, Shepard," Hackett said, rising from the chair he'd sat in. "I better get back to it. I'll be in touch. Also, there's press outside. I can send them away this time, but it's a delaying tactic at best. The whole galaxy wants to hear what you have to say."

"Pick one," Shepard said. "One you trust. I'm not going to have them all in here, but if you send in a reporter you trust, I'll do an interview."

"Alright Shepard, I'll do that. I appreciate it; they've been dogging me about this for two months. And for what it's worth," Hackett said as he stepped into the doorway. "I think you made the right call with the Crucible."

* * *

A few minutes later, a pretty woman in her thirties came in, flanked by a camera man. She brushed a lock of red hair out of her face and gingerly shook his hand. "Alicia Barrett," she said introducing herself. "ANN."

"It's a pleasure," he said, sounding less than enthused. "So here's the deal. Keep the camera above my waist at all times. He drew the blanket aside and they both seemed shocked by his missing leg. "I'd rather this not go public. I'm sure you understand. The galaxy needs a hero right now, and I've been told over and over again that I'm the man for the job, however I may disagree. But if I _am_ the man for the job, they can't see me without my leg. They need to think I'm on the road to recovery, because it will inspire _them_ to get on the road to recovery. People need to start rebuilding their lives, mourning their loved ones, and trying to get back to some semblance of normalcy. If they think that that's something their hero will be able to do, then they'll be able to do it too."

Barrett nodded solemnly. He noticed a tear slide down her cheek and felt bad that he'd been short with her when she shook his hand. She was clearly buying into the Shepard mythology, just like everyone else. "You're absolutely right commander. We won't breathe a word. Do you want me to walk you through the interview before we start?"

"No," he said gently. "I'm not much for rehearsal. We'll do it off the cuff. I promise not to punch you."

She chuckled at this. The general consensus of his first interview with Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani was that, while he shouldn't have lost his temper, she'd had it coming. "Alright then. Is there anything you need before we get started?"

He pointed at a hairbrush on the dresser and she put it in his hand. She reached into her purse and held up a small hand mirror and he tried to make himself look a bit more presentable. He nodded at her to start the interview.

"This is Alicia Barrett with ANN. Our coverage of the reconstruction in Vancouver continues. I'm here with an exclusive interview with the esteemed Commander James Shepard, who regained consciousness yesterday morning after being pulled from the wreckage in the Citadel nearly two months ago. Commander Shepard has agreed to speak with us for a bit and talk about what it's taken to get us here and what it will take for us to move forward. How are you, Commander?"

The cameraman turned away from Barrett and faced Shepard. "Well, Alica, as you can see, I've been better. But it's all been worth it. We stopped the Reapers."

"That we did, in no small part to you. How do you feel knowing that you played a critical role in the annihilation of the Reaper threat?"

"I want to set the record straight here, Alica. I played a part in stopping the Reapers. I won't dispute you on that. I've got the bruises, concussion, and broken bones to show for it. But my role in the war was no more important than anyone else's. It might have had a more direct effect on the outcome, but the men and women who sacrificed themselves for the good of the galaxy on the road to our shared victory are the real heroes here. Military or not. The krogan who raised their rifles beside a galaxy that sterilized them. The turians battling in the ruins of London, even as their own world burned half a galaxy away. Asari, fighting on even after the destruction on Thessia. Batarians, fighting to avenge a decimated civilization.

"People from all walks of life. Cops and criminals. Justicars and The arms corporations that provided their goods for free to put weapons in the hands of our troops. The doctors, nurses, and volunteers at our hospital. Spouses of soldiers, taking care of their children and wondering if their loved ones would ever come home. Civilians who struggled to get their family to safety under occupation. Refugees who escaped the carnage and made it safely to the Citadel. People of all cultures, species, and backgrounds. You all pulled together in the time of our greatest need, and we brought it to those monsters, and triumphed. You're all heroes. We are all heroes together. Being alive right now, after so many great civilizations have fallen to the Reapers…that's heroism. I'm just one of billions, Alicia." _Damn_ _good speech_, he thought to himself.

"Well said, Commander," Alicia said, voice breaking as she fought back tears. He sensed that she had perhaps lost a loved one. Nobody had made it through the war without losing someone. The galaxy was united in shared grief as much as shared heroism. "Would you like to say a few words about how the galaxy can move forward from here?"

"Sure. It's not going to be easy. We've all lost loved ones. Some of us have lost more than others. But I'd like to express a sentiment of unity as we move on. You are not alone. You are surrounded by people who have shared the same horrible experiences that you have. You have weathered this storm together, and I'd like to urge you all to continue to weather it together. We all have a built in support structure; we have a whole galaxy full of allies who have been hurt just as we have been hurt." His words started to feel hollow, artificial. He was preaching unity and perseverance, but he just felt like a liar. "We…" his voice trailed off. Barrett looked at him expectantly.

"Fuck it," he said. "Show them." He gestured down towards the end of the bed. The cameraman glanced at Barrett for approval and she nodded, a solemn expression on her face.

"I was going to conduct this interview without making my current condition known to the public. But I can't do that. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to all the people who laid down their lives so I could be lying here giving this interview, and so you could be wherever you are, alive, watching it. The fact is that I sustained some pretty severe wounds and my leg had to be amputated. I was going to lie to you in this interview and tell you that soon I'll be back at a hundred percent. I'm not going to be. I'll probably never be at one hundred percent. But that doesn't matter. I'm going to try my hardest to get back as much as I can. You should too. Everything I said to you about heroes, and unity…I mean all of that from the bottom of my heart. Some of us are never going to be able to return to normal. Not completely. The scale of what has been taken from us is still hard to think about. But we will work together to restore our lives and our civilizations. I'll be right there with you on my new leg. We will rebuild this galaxy together."

"Thank you, Commander," Barrett said with admiration, the tears flowing openly now. "I think I speak for the entire galaxy when I say that we are going to take your words to heart, and when I say thank you for all you've done. We can never thank you enough. I'm Alicia Barrett, with ANN, and that was Commander James Shepard with some amazing words of courage." The cameraman shut off his camera and shook his hand.

"Thank you, Commander," he said.

"Thank _you_," Shepard said. "I'm sorry to send you two off running like this, but…that took a lot out of me. I'm still pretty weak, and I'd probably do myself a favor by getting some sleep. It really has been a pleasure."

"Of course, Commander. Thank you for the interview, and for everything else." He was asleep before they left the room.


	3. Chapter 3

I can't believe the rate that I'm pumping this story out at. It's really atypical for me. Well, as they say, strike while the iron is hot! Special thanks to everyone who has checked this story out so far. As always, I really appreciate reviews. If you like the story and want to read more, let me know what you like about it so I can make it even better! If you have a criticisms, let me know about those too so I can address them! Thanks again for taking the time to read this story.

_**As always, I do not own Mass Effect or its**_** characters**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Ashley Williams wiped sweat from her hands with a cloth rag and hoisted herself onto the pull-up bar. The crew of the Normandy was entering the second month of its inadvertent exile, and Dr. Chakwas had insisted that everyone make full use of the Normandy's facilities. Normally, everyone kept to their specific stations and within their specific social circles, but feelings of isolation were a real threat to the psychological welfare of everyone aboard, and Chakwas had taken to organizing poker games for senior officers, making sure everyone got enough exercise, and preventing overworking the crew.

They had all been on ships for longer than this voyage, but the circumstances were different. They all had people they cared about back home, and were still unsure of the safety of most of them. They were essentially cut off from the Alliance, and the lack of regular contact could take a toll on them if they let it. Traynor had been working together to try to realign the quantum communication device in the war room, but it had, like most of the Normandy, taken a beating in the crash. She'd restored more conventional means of communication, but with the Mass Relays severely damaged, trying to send signals through the relay network for more rapid communication was proving impossible. As it stood, they were able to receive and transmit messages, but it took a long time for the messages to travel long distances across space.

She hoisted herself up, doing chin-ups at a steady pace. Fifty reps, and she would move onto something else. She was alone in the shuttle bay, save for Steve Cortez, who was tinkering with his shuttle, and the robotic dog, which was lying apathetically by the elevator. Vega was on the crew deck defending his reign as the Normandy's defacto Texas Hold 'Em champion. She was fine with the lack of company. She'd just received a piece of information that she needed to think on for a bit. Ashley did her best thinking while working out.

As the ranking officer on the Normandy, Ashley had assumed command of the Alliance crew, although she would be foolish to presume to command Garrus, Liara, Tali, or that helpful-yet-creepy Prothean, Javik. She was privy to all incoming transmissions from Alliance or Citadel command. Today, she'd learned that Shepard had woken up. As it stood right now, only she and Traynor were the only people who knew. She wasn't sure why she was keeping it to herself for the moment. It wasn't that she didn't want to tell them; she had every intention to. It was just…hard to talk about. She needed time to sort out her thoughts and put them in order.

She was elated that Shepard was alive, but also strangely apprehensive. They'd never really had a chance to simply be together, and it was one that she looked forward to with a kind of delirious intensity. Life had always gotten in the way of their relationship. Their initial flirting had taken place during the mission to stop Saren. The delirious happiness of new love had been minimized by the threat of geth and Sovereign. Still, they had found each other, and for a little while, it had been good.

After he'd died, Ashley had tried to move on. She tried to go on a few dates, but it had never worked out. She'd had a few sexual partners during that time, but none she could honestly call lovers. And then, out of the blue, her world was turned upside down when she heard that, after two years of being clinically dead, Shepard had come back. Not only that, but he was working with Cerberus. Their meeting on Horizon had been heated; he was too stubborn to hear her attack him without getting angry and fighting back, and she was too stubborn to listen to what he had to say. Their mutual orneriness had been a definite factor in their original mutual attraction, but it worked to their detriment that day on Horizon. She'd said things she regretted, and stormed off in a rage. A few weeks later, she got her feelings in order and sent him a letter, trying to apologize and seek out some sort of mutual understanding.

He'd remained faithful to her in spite of everything she had done that might have pushed him away, and for that she was grateful. However, things had remained tense between them even after they'd been thrust back into the fire together during the all out war with the Reapers. They'd spent the mission on Mars arguing and sniping at one another, and then she'd been injured by that Cerberus fembot. He'd been there for her, willing to weather her suspicion to an extent, but also clearly becoming frustrated at her lack of trust in him.

She had chastised herself the entire time for the way that she bickered with him. His results spoke for themselves, and his allegiance to both the Alliance and to her was made clear with every Cerberus assault trooper he gunned down. She was a naturally suspicious person, but she always came around. She hadn't trusted Garrus when he first arrived on the Normandy, but now she would trust that ugly turian with anything. She had been ready to kill Wrex on Virmire, but he'd turned out alright. She was an impulsive person. She knew it, and she tried to work on it, but sometimes it got the best of her.

It had delighted her when he'd pushed through her mistrust and stubbornness and told her that her that he wanted to be more than friends, especially in light of that mess on the Citadel. She'd been conflicted about shooting Udina, but realized it had been necessary. They'd left things in a good place on Earth. They'd laid their cards on the table; they knew where they stood, regardless of how things turned out.

Why was she so nervous now? He was alive. He was awake. She assumed that his feelings hadn't changed. She knew that hers hadn't. She continued to do pull-ups, grunting from the exertion. Sweat pooled on her brow and she ignored it, doing the exercise with increased ferocity as she confronted her anxiety. She suspected she knew what she was so afraid of.

They had never been together in a time of peace. Their relationship was tempered in the flames of war. Without those flames, would it be reduced to smoldering embers, cooling and dying? She tried to imagine just a week with him, a week where they were free of military obligations, free of conflict. Looking back, she couldn't actually think of a three day period where she'd interacted with Shepard in person and not killed anybody. Was that a healthy basis for a relationship? She knew it was probably a silly line of thinking; Shepard was everything she could have ever dreamed of finding in a man; funny, intelligent, head over heels in love with her, and not bad on the eyes. It didn't hurt her attraction to him that he was also the savior of the galaxy, though she liked to think she'd played a substantial role in that endeavor.

But would it all remain? Would there still be sparks between them when they weren't constantly staring down the barrel of extinction? She supposed she would need to try get stationed on Earth if she wanted to have any kind of life with him, at least for a while. He would need her support. If she knew Shepard, the loss of his leg hurt him on a far deeper level than the physical one. He would feel useless and lost. She knew better than most what it was like to devote oneself to the military, in mind and body. To not have that anymore would leave him with a hole in his life that he would be at a loss to fill. She felt her resolve strengthening. She would be there for him. She would show him that he was special, both to her and the world, no matter what tragic misfortunes he suffered.

Her pull-ups were coming fast and furious now, far more quickly than was advisable. She'd also lost count. She grunted and dropped down to her feet.

"Everything alright?" It was Cortez. He had paused his work on the shuttle and was looking at her with a look of concern on his face.

"Yeah," she said, wiping her brow with a bare forearm. "I…Shepard's awake. I was going to tell everyone. But I needed to think."

He could barely contain his surprise. "Commander Williams, that's great news! You must be ecstatic!" Cortez had been doing better in recent weeks, but she knew the loss of his husband still weighed on him. Winning the war had given him as much closure as he was likely to get, but Cortez was clearly lonely. His friendship with Shepard had restored a lot of his faith in the reasons he kept fighting. Ashley felt bad about not telling the crew immediately; she didn't have a monopoly on Shepard. He had touched all of their lives. He belonged to all of them. She might be more intimately familiar with the Commander than the others, but they were similarly invested in his survival. He was more than a man, to all of them.

"I…I am. I've just had a lot on my mind, Steve." She leaned against the pull-up bar and crossed her arms, pensive.

"Anything I can help with? Shepard was there for me when I was going through some tough times. I always like to try and pay it forward." There was no judgment from Cortez about not telling them right away; the fact that he understood almost made her feel even worse about it.

"I'm worried about adjusting to life with him outside of military life," she said, surprised by her frankness. "We've spent more time together blowing shit up and killing bad guys than we have socially. I love him, and I think he loves me. I'm just afraid that…" she let her thoughts hang in the air.

"You're afraid that the shared experiences of…blowing shit up and killing bad guys…defined your relationship." Cortez was very insightful. He'd come to that conclusion much faster than she had. The shuttle pilot was more experienced than she was where love was concerned, both in terms of the highs and the lows. She couldn't imagine eking out a life with someone only to have the Collectors snatch him away.

"Yeah. I think I am. I know it's silly, but…I had a hell of a time when he was dead, you know? I feel like I've been given this amazing second chance, and I'm afraid to mess it up."

Cortez seemed to deflate a bit at that. She realized what a foolish and hurtful thing she'd said. There was no Lazarus Project secretly rebuilding the man's husband. He'd only had one chance, and it was gone. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was insensitive."

"No," said Cortez. "It wasn't. We take the time that we can get. You and Shepard…all the doors are open for you right now. You only need to walk through them. Robert and I…we had a good run. I miss him every day, but I can take some comfort in knowing that we made the most of the time we had. It's okay to be nervous about you and Shepard, but whatever the future holds, you make the most of the time you have. And for what it's worth…I've seen the way you and Shepard are when you're together. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

He was right, of course. She was still in her late twenties. Shepard was thirty-two. They had a lot of years ahead of them. They might spend that entire time together, as she hoped they would. It was probably likely. But she was a Williams. They were a tough family. She thought of Sarah, whose husband had been taken from her far too soon. She would keep on keeping on, no matter what. She couldn't let uncertainty over the future prevent her from living the present.

"Thanks, Steve. You've given me a lot to think about. And please," she said, taking a page from Shepard's book. "Just call me Ash when we're off duty. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an announcement to make to the crew."

Cortez grinned.

* * *

A man sat alone at a table in a dive bar on Omega, watching the news report with increasing agitation. Shepard was alive! He was awake! The man didn't care much that Shepard had saved the galaxy. The state of the galaxy made little difference to him. His life had been over for years thanks to Shepard. That redheaded skank from ANN, the one with the perky smile and little intelligence behind her dim eyes, was interviewing the conquering hero at his bedside. Shepard was giving a rousing speech about unity, heroes, and all the usual, sanctimonious bullshit that people like Shepard regurgitated at the little guys.

Suddenly, Shepard paused in the middle of his speech. The news station had edited the sound but kept the lip movements; you could clearly see Shepard say "fuck it" and tell the cameraman to pan the shot down. The man at the bar spat out the sip of whiskey he had taken. Shepard only had one leg! He could barely contain his glee. The batarian bartender glared at him.

"Sorry," said the gangster known as Fist, wiping down the table. He rose from his table and strode from the bar. He needed to arrange transport to Earth. He had an appointment with the man who had ruined his life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

After several weeks in the hospital, Shepard came to look forward to daily visits from his mother, for a few hours every afternoon. She was unable to spend as much time with him as she would have liked, but even after stepping down from the majority of her duties, she still had obligations to the Alliance. There were few enough senior officers who were both alive and fit for duty for her to leave cold turkey; her contributions were invaluable, and though Shepard would have liked to have the company, he recognized that she was doing important work.

She had just left half an hour ago. Shepard was sifting through fan mail. On the vid-screen, Jackie Chan battled atop a hovercraft as _Rumble in the Bronx_ neared its conclusion. He had seen the film dozens of times, and though he loved it, he was mostly ignoring it at the moment. Shepard had always found reading fan mail to be both fascinating and unsettling. He had certainly never asked to be a celebrity, and was still unsure why he'd even become one in the first place. The mob admired who the mob admired, and for some reason, they'd chosen to admire him, a man whose job was to kill people and bring together disparate people and cultures so as to become more successful at kill even more.

He would never discredit his work; he'd played no small part in saving galactic civilization. Still, in a perfect world, people like him wouldn't be necessary. To celebrate his accomplishments in such grandiose fashion seemed oddly perverse; a world where people didn't need to become killing machines at all would be worth lauding. He was flattered that people admired him so much, but he also found it a bit off-putting, depending on the phrasing of the letter. For the most part, however, the quality of his fan mail had increased since he'd reluctantly assumed the mantle of galactic savior.

He'd first become a household name after that mess on Elysium. He was proud of the lives he'd saved, but at the end of the day, his claim to fame was killing a lot of pirates. When he'd begun receiving mail about that, he found it quite eerie. "I really look up to the way you killed those batarian sons of bitches," began one of the letters. While in general he found most batarians to be contemptible scum, he was still not comfortable with the accolades.

Things had gotten better over the years, as the nature of his work changed. Most people didn't know the geth like he had, so mail after the Saren incident had been mostly fine. The influx of fan mail that he'd received since the battle for Earth was some of the best he'd ever been sent. There was no moral ambiguity about the war with the Reapers. It had been them or the rest of the galaxy. He was receiving mail from bereaved loved ones of fallen soldiers, sole survivors of families, kids thanking him for killing the monsters that had taken their parents away. It was fan mail for the right reasons, but that made it all the more gutwrenching.

He skimmed a few gushing letters and began to read one from a man named Edmund Ramirez.

_Dear Commander Shepard,_

_ You probably don't remember me. We never actually spoke to each other, but our paths have crossed. I was at the Huerta Memorial Hospital while you were there visiting your injured crewmate. I hope she's alright. I was lying on a gurney, arguing with a doctor. She told me that they were going to have to amputate my leg._

"Jesus Christ," Shepard gasped. He _did_ remember the man. He'd been thinking about him the day he woke from his coma and realized his leg was gone. He continued to read, hand gripping the datapad tightly.

_I felt all kinds of terrible when she told me that. How could it happen to me, in the middle of the war? I was so angry. I had friends fighting the Reapers all over, and all I could think about was how I was letting them down. What if one of them got killed while I was lying in bed? If I was with them, I could be the difference between success and failure. In my mind, the war effort would fall apart without me there on the front lines. I felt like that for months after they took the leg. If I'd been able to get my hands on a gun, I'd have probably killed myself. I'd like to tell you that I'm exaggerating, that things weren't really that bad. But they were. I spent the whole war in Huerta Memorial, hoping and praying that my friends would be okay, that we would win._

_ When the Reapers hit the Citadel, a lot of people tried to hole up in HMH. We kept the abominations at bay for three days, until you finally killed the bastards once and for all. I didn't think that a one legged man could be much use; I was barely getting used to my prosthesis. It's true, my mobility wasn't what it had been. But I can say with no boasting that my assistance to C-Sec saved lives in there. _

_ Obviously, the war is over, and I'm rambling, but what I'm trying to say is this: we've been dealt shitty hands, Commander. I'll be the first to back you on that. But if we play them right, we can still walk away with the pot. Don't lose hope, sir. As much as it sounds like bullshit, it really does get a little easier each day. Anyway, I'm not too good at this sentimental shit. I'm a soldier, or at least I was. I'm not sure where life is going to take me next, but I'm going to look it right in the eye and tell it I'm not going to stand for its bullshit. You should too. And Commander? From one disabled vet to another? Thanks for everything you did._

_ Lance Corporal Eddie Ramirez, 9__th__ Division, Alliance Marine Corps_

Shepard sat in silence for a moment, touched by the man's honesty and reassurance. He archived the letter with the intent of showing his mother. She'd want to read it. He clicked through some more mail, finally setting it aside and starting up another vid. This time it seemed to be hate mail. The subject line was simply "Pussy." Curious, he clicked on it. With rising anger, he began to read a lengthy diatribe about how he was a coward and a liar who had played no part in stopping the Reapers. The letter alleged that he hadn't even participated in the battle, let alone lost his leg. He resisted the urge to hurl the datapad at the wall. Instead, he took a deep breath and set it down on the table next to his bed.

He was due for a status update from Dr. Michele soon; he was apparently healing nicely. The ruptured spleen and punctured lung had been taking care of while he was in the coma. His ribs were mending, and though they still pained him a bit, they were better. His arm was also mending. He was cleared to do light lifting, though it was not even close to fully healed. He seemed to mostly be making a full recovery, barring the amputation. If she cleared him today, he'd be able to begin with physical therapy, and learn to start coping with his missing limb.

The door chimed. "Come in," he said, glad to have something to do besides look over hate-mail. The nurse who had found him awake several weeks ago when he'd first regained consciousness poked her head in.

"Commander, you have a pair of visitors." He nodded absently, beckoning for her to send them in.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed, as two familiar faces stepped into the room.

"You're swearing now, Shepard?" said Jack, corners of her mouth fighting a smile. With her was another old friend, Zaeed Massani. Neither of them was easy for the average person to like, but Shepard had been through a lot with them both, and was quite fond of them. He was surprised that they were the first of his old team to get in touch with him; they both put a great deal of effort into appearing not to care, though he knew that they both did, deep down.

"I'm high on pain medication," he said with a laugh. She shook her head with a wry chuckle. Her hair was even longer now, falling gently around her admittedly gorgeous face. She seemed more at peace than he could ever recall seeing her. "What brings you two here?

"Figured we'd stop in and see how the fearless leader was doing," Zaeed said gruffly. "Goddamn good to see you alive, Shepard, if not in one piece."

"I'll manage," Shepard said weakly. "So. I want to hear what happened on the ground towards the end of the battle. I've really only spoken to fleet personnel."

"It was bad down there, Shepard," said Jack. "I lost some of my guys." Her eyes were downcast as she said it. He knew that she'd have taken that hard; Jack saw the biotic recruits under her command as examples of who she could have been; not the angry kid, tortured by Cerberus, but happy, well adjusted. He'd recommended that she and her team become front line fighters. He didn't regret the call.

He'd known that Jack wouldn't have been happy behind the scenes, and that with her team in the thick of the fighting, they would save a lot of lives and do a lot of damage. He'd known full well that there would be the possibility of some of those kids dying, and while that was something he'd have to carry with him, the war effort had needed all the capable biotics it could find. Hell, it was worth it to get Jack out in the fray where she could do some damage.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Jack," he said sympathetically. Goddammit, he thought. They were kids. They didn't deserve this. Nobody did. The galaxy was far from perfect, but nobody deserved to experience the hell that the Reapers brought upon it.

"It's…it's okay. They didn't die for nothing, you know?" She smiled faintly. There could have been something between the two of them, once. Shepard had been sorely tempted to try to initiate something back during their mission to stop the Collectors. He found Jack appealing, and he knew that she respected him. But she needed someone who could devote themselves to her, who could love her with everything they had. He'd been angry at the time; angry with himself for dying, angry with the Collectors for killing him, angry at Ashley for rejecting him on Horizon, and most of all, angry with Cerberus for bringing him back. It wouldn't have been fair to Jack.

Now, Ashley was back in his life, and he was truly grateful for that, but he also couldn't help but wonder what might have been. "How did you two end up together?"

Zaeed let out a harsh chortle at that. "How do most of my stories start, Shepard?"

"You were pinned down by overwhelming odds, and your entire team was dead," Shepard said, rolling his eyes. Of course. How else could the story begin?

"I was pinned down in a pub, down to me and my last man. The Reapers were hitting us with everything. Dozens of those turian things, even more of the batarians. They even had some of those repurposed asari. Anyway, Günter ends up getting filleted by a husk. Pulled him right apart. I'm doing alright for a while. Ended up falling back into the kitchen, and then onto the roof. Then I hear this crazy bitch barking out orders," Zaeed said fondly. Shepard glanced at Jack and then back to Zaeed. Did the man have a death wish? Shepard had to assume that using such nomenclature to describe Jack was akin to a signed suicide note.

To Shepard's astonishment, Jack grinned widely. Zaeed continued. "Her team was moving through an alley behind the pub. I called down to her and we were able to gut the bastards out on the main street. Those kids pack a wallop."

"Yeah, they do. And I guess your sniper support was okay," Jack said.

"So…you met up months ago? This wasn't a spur of the moment reunion?" He was trying to figure out what could compel Jack and Zaeed to remain in contact with one another for so long.

"Yeah," Zaeed said gruffly. "I don't know a lot of people on Earth. Not living ones, anyway. These are chaotic times."

Shepard nodded faintly, puzzled.

"Plus, we're fucking," Jack said with a sinister smirk. Shepard's jaw dropped, his eyes widened, and if he'd been taking a drink, he'd have spit it all over himself. Jack burst out laughing in one of the most genuine displays of good humor he'd seen from her.

"So, uh…you two are…a couple," Shepard said, half making a statement and half asking a question.

"I don't know if I'd call us a couple exactly, but-" Zaeed began, when Jack cut him off with a withering glare.

"We're a fucking couple," she said sternly.

"Yes, dear," the grizzled old mercenary replied sardonically, locking eyes with Shepard. His one good eye seemed to be saying 'no, we're not'. Shepard resisted the urge to burst into hysterics, as he knew it would cause some pain to his still tender ribs.

"Well," Shepard said, trying to keep a straight face. "I'm glad to see that something good has come out of all of this. Two dear comrades, blissfully in love…" he grinned widely.

"I will fucking kill you in your bed, Shepard, and I won't feel guilty about it," Zaeed spat, a twinge of amusement in his tone.

"Seriously though. It's good to see you both. Have you heard anything from any of the others?" His concern for his old teammates had been growing over the weeks, as more and more time passed with no word from them.

"Goto, Lawson, and Taylor are all in the Citadel trying to get it moving. The council isn't keen on leaving the seat of their power in Earth's orbit, but getting it mobile has been a challenge. Your krogan buddies Wrex and Grunt are en route back to Tuchanka. Haven't heard from Samara, but I can't say that bothers me. She'd probably try to put a bullet in my head, and then I'd have to kill her."

It was probably for the best that the justicar had departed. Shepard tried to be a good man when he had the luxury, but sometimes his mission had to come first. She'd once informed him that some of his actions were in conflict with her rigid moral code, and that if they met in times of peace she would attempt to kill him. With two legs, Shepard knew he could take her. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"So what are your plans?" Shepard asked. He couldn't imagine the volatile pair staying together for very long.

"Find a beach that hasn't been turned to glass, get a drink, and live my days in quiet retirement," Zaeed said.

"You're not retiring, asshole," Jack said sternly. "If I'm sticking with the Alliance, you're sticking with the Alliance."

The grizzled old mercenary sighed. "You're not _that_ good a lay, you know," he said with a scowl.

"Oh, but I am," Jack replied devilishly. "We're going to stick around on Earth for a bit. Help out where we can. It's weird, you know? What do people like us do when all the killing is done?"

"I've been wondering that myself," Shepard said. "Especially because even if there was more fighting to be done, I'd be in no shape to do it. Feeling a little useless."

"Christ, Shepard," Zaeed said. "I've known men with worse injuries than you who I'd still want to have around in firefights. Granted, they're all dead now, but that was always unrelated to the injuries."

"What Zaeed is trying to say, Shepard, is don't feel useless. If a crazy fuckup like me can turn it around and make a difference, a gimp like you should be just fine," said Jack, in what Shepard assumed was an attempt at earnestness. The vaguely psychopathic comfort his old friends were providing actually did make him feel a bit better, he realized.

The trio chatted for a while longer, catching up on old times and swapping stories from the battle. For a while, Shepard felt like his old self. He found himself raising an eyebrow when Zaeed put his arm around Jack's shoulder, but it was so good to see comrades that he forced himself to let it go. Odd as it was, he was happy for the unlikely couple. The war had taken so much from so many; they found each other in the wake of the chaos, just as he and Ashley had reconnected. He would have given anything to accelerate the Normandy's trip home.

* * *

Several miles away, the man known as Fist was checking into one of the few operational motels in Vancouver. It was a shithole, but that could be said of the entire city now. The owners had apparently gotten it up and running about a week ago, and business was clearly slow, as most people were trying to find more permanent lodgings, or were staying on vessels in orbit. But Fist didn't need to be in Vancouver for very long. He wouldn't rush things, of course. He'd need to see what sort of opposition he would face, and he needed to wait for the men he'd hired to arrive. They all booked separate transportation; he didn't think that customs would be very efficient at the spaceport, but he didn't want to raise any red flags. His mission hinged on his ability to get it done and get off-planet without drawing attention to himself.

One of his hirelings was also smuggling in an arsenal, which, Fist hopes, would not really be necessary. He didn't expect much resistance from a cripple, but he wasn't going to underestimate Shepard twice.

He paid the woman at the desk, who was all smiles, making friendly small talk about her plans now that the war was over. "Can it, sister," he said, turning from the desk without another glance. He used his omnitool to open his room and stepped inside. The walls were cracked and some rebar was poking from the ceiling, but it was accommodating enough, with a good sized vid screen, bed, and bathroom. His mind wasn't on the room though. He was preoccupied with thoughts of the task ahead. He'd need to find an isolated area, away from the bustle of the city, free from prying eyes and ears. He wasn't sure why this mission was so important to him; it wouldn't improve his miserable lot in life or reverse his fortunes. "I deserve to do this," he told himself. Shepard had ruined his life. Fist had just been a businessman, preying on some quarian hoodlum that nobody would miss. Shepard had to go and ruin everything. For that, Fist thought with fire in his eyes, he was going to torture and kill the bastard.


End file.
